


Fifteen-Minute Ficlets

by Priscellie



Category: Dresden Files - Butcher
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-18
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Priscellie/pseuds/Priscellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of mine holds weekly writing chats, in which participants are given fifteen minutes to crank out a ficlet based on a prompt. I've polished a few of my favourites and posted them here!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: Write a December memory

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kait, for organizing the writing chat thingies, and loff always to Kat, my beta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Takes place a few months after _Proven Guilty_.

Christmas is supposed to be the season for giving, for loving, for staving off the darkness of winter with the combined radiance of a thousand tiny lights. I looked across the room at my youngest sister, laughing merrily with her new husband and glowing as brightly as any star, and I wanted to strangle everyone present with a garland of tinsel. It said a lot about the night's festivities so far that "How's your love life, Karrin?" was one of the pleasanter memories of the evening.

I made my way past hordes of relatives--all happily patting each other on the back for their year's successes, but who could only greet the woman who had lost all her status in her crappy department with blank expressions and a feeble "better luck next year"--and finally arrived at the window. I took another sip of egg nog and exhaled heavily, my breath fogging the glass, then identified the brightest star I could find.

_Anything_, I wished. _Disgruntled elf, rampaging troll... I'd even take creche figures marauding around Chicago Ghostbusters-style. Something I can deal with right now._

In the distance, I heard the squeal of brakes, a distant crash, and the deranged, put-put-putting roar of a familiar engine, growing steadily louder.

Maybe there were such things as Christmas miracles, after all.


	2. Prompt:  Explain the Bruise

A/N: Takes place a year or so after _White Night_.

  
"So what happened to your arm?" the passing stranger asked. He had toussled blue hair and eyes to match.

"I tripped," Molly said.

Shame she had to lie about it--the story really was as exceptional as the bruise. But once the guy had finally gotten the bartender's attention, he'd taken his beer and left, so clearly clumsy girls weren't as fascinating as girls whose wounds had sexy war stories. Shame she was the only girl in the club whose war stories were from an actual war, albeit one the clientele would never have heard of.

Another potential suitor sidled up next to her, all bleached white hair and long limbs and hooded black eyes. "How'd you get the bruise?" he asked.

"I tripped," Molly said again. She began to wish she had the stomach to come up with a more clever lie, as when a friend called for her newcomer's attention, he left her side without a second glance. She sighed and took another sip of her drink.

And then a third was there beside her, dark-featured and handsome, filling the empty seat once more. "Explain the bruise," he said, concerned.

"I tripped up a frovlox demon that was about to take off Harry's head with a mace. And apparently my shield wasn't quite ready to take on a hunk of metal half the size of my head."

"_Dios_, Molly, you could have been killed."

Molly rolled her eyes. "If we're going to get in a 'you could have been killed'-off, you don't have a leg to stand on, Mr. I Was Nearly Disemboweled And It Took Me Like Ten Minutes To Notice The Knife In My Thigh."

"That was different. It was a combat situation. And I finished my apprenticeship years ago--I can't help but think Harry is exposing you to too much too quickly."

"You're cute when you get all overprotective boyfriend-y," said Molly, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Carlos caught her hand and kissed the heel of her palm.

"Your arm doesn't get in the way of dancing, does it?"

"Not in the least," she said with a grin.


	3. Prompt:  Take the Long Way Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific spoilers.

A line is the shortest distance between two points. It's predictable. You can measure it and define it in terms of a combination of variables, and you can subject it to all those handy geometric formulae I probably would have picked up if I'd finished high school.

We aren't like that. If you tried to chart us, define us, measure us, you'd give up or go mad trying. Even we don't know how we work--what deranged, drunken spiral links our two points across the infinite planes of space. We can see how long our points were needlessly orbiting each other, never coming too close yet never able to completely break away, but we can't put a finger on any specific variable responsible for finally pulling our points together.

We took the long way around, she and I. The line meanders, and it may not be neat and predictable or even remotely comprehensible. But then again, I've always prefered the scenic route.


	4. Prompt:  Write about a door key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Takes place some indeterminate time between Proven Guilty and White Night.

"This is insane," Molly said, the wards roiling at her unpracticed touch.

"No, you're making it insane," I sighed, my patience beginning to fray. "Try it again."

"You're sure I can't just have one of those special keys that unlocks the wards too, like Murphy and Thomas?"

"I don't like having _any_ special keys to my home out there, but in their case, it was necessary. Besides, how many times have you lost your wallet in the past month?

"I didn't lose it the second time, it was _eaten_!"

"But who left it out where the barrymokes could find it? I warned you they like chocolate."

"The Reese's cup in the change purse was in case of sugar emergencies. I'd forgotten it was there."

"So you're saying you're forgetful. Not winning you any points, Apprentice."

Molly glared at me, then exhaled in resignation and returned her attention to the task at hand. "Freaking chocolate-loving bastards," she grumbled.

It was going to be a long day.


	5. Prompt: Learning to Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Takes place long before _Storm Front_. Spoilers for _Summer Knight_, I guess.

Ebenezar McCoy's knuckles were white. "Easy now, boy," he rumbled, in the tone of voice he used to comfort spooked horses. "Let's keep this civil. 'Way things're going, someone's liable to get hurt."

"I can handle it," I protested, but I eased my foot off the accelerator nonetheless.

My mentor waited until we were moving at a satisfactorily turtlelike pace, then gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. "Better. No use running before you've learned to walk proper. There's no one you need to worry about impressing, hoss. The most important thing is that you stay in control."

"Yes, sir," I said, guiding the truck down the dirt road with exaggerated care. Of course, this meant that when I hit the unexpected patch of gravel that sent the tires spinning and jerked the wheel from my hands, I was able to recover far more quickly than I would have at my previous speed.

I emerged from the fishtail breathing hard through my nose with my hands clamped tightly to the wheel, knuckles as white as my mentor's had been moments ago, proceeding at barely a crawl.

"Control," Ebenezar said, looking slightly smug.

I looked away from the road for a microsecond to raise an accusatory eyebrow at my mentor. "That wasn't particularly subtle."

"Yeah, but you picked up the lesson right enough. That skull of yours is about as thick as two planks of wood."

I clenched my jaw. "Thank you, sir." He clapped a weather-worn hand on my shoulder.

"Any time, boy."


	6. Prompt: Something is Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Takes place several years before _Storm Front_. If you've read any Dresden book, you're probably safe.

Something is burning.

I watched the fire-ravaged barn until my vision swam with blue splotches. Flames licked mercilessly at the walls, the window frames, the roof... A few minutes ago, the fire had reached the hayloft, and the entire floor went up like kindling. I thought of the countless times I'd snuck up there with Elaine, when we threw our books aside and grappled with each other as if we were drowning. Elaine, whose lovely straw-colored hair fanned out around her head like a tiny sun, whose long limbs glistened in the heat of the loft in the summer as they wrapped around me, holding our bodies together until we lost track of where I ended and she began. Elaine, who had been unconscious when the fire started.

Something is burning.

I hadn't heard her die, at least. That had been a small mercy. My ears still rang with the throat-rending cries of my surrogate father as the fire consumed him. It was a scream without rationale, without sense, a wordless howl of rage and terror and despair and unfathomable pain that resonated in the basest core of my brainstem and told me to run and run and never stop. I watched his skin bubble and his hair burn away and his muscle blacken to charred meat. I watched until the tears reduced my sight to amorphous blobs of bright, flickering orange and shifting wells of black.

Something is burning.

The hot, searing fury that had given speed to my wits and strength to my convictions began to burn itself out, my will exhausted. My legs abruptly turned to jelly, and I fell to my knees and retched. The fire was lower now, and the barn suddenly caved in a shower of sparks. With the heat somewhat abated, I felt myself shivering.

I wanted the blaze again. I wanted the clarity, the sense of purpose, without thought towards determining the reason for Elaine and Justin's betrayal. When all I had was anger, I couldn't feel the ache of loss that tunneled through my guts and made a new home in my belly. The confusion, the frustration, the despair... all took up a parasitic new residence in one Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.

The something was no longer burning now. Only smoke and airborne ash and half-consumed planks of blackest carbon remained to tell the tale. I shivered involuntarily as I got back to my feet.

I could handle fire. If only the rest of the world could be so certain.


	7. Prompt: A Guessing Game That Goes Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Takes place after _White Night_.

"I spy with my little eye," Carlos murmured, "something red."

Molly snorted gently and opened her eyes. The two lay comfortably on a picnic blanket in Chicago's Millenium Park on one of the last days of Summer, her head pillowed on his chest. "That kid's shirt," she said, pointing lazily, then closing her eyes once more.

When she didn't take the bait, Carlos nudged her. "Your turn."

Molly lifted her head, glanced briefly around her, then settled back in her previous position with a satisfied little smile. "I spy with my little eye something green."

"The trees?"

"Nope."

"The grass?"

"Nada."

"The fountain?"

"God I hope the water isn't green."

"Those kids' baseball uniforms?"

"Noperooni."

"Your hair?"

"It isn't green, it's teal."

"Teal counts as green."

"Only if you're a _guy_."

"I _am_ a guy."

"It still isn't my hair."

"But it could have been."

"Dream on."

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "What if I dreamed of you?"

Molly giggled. "Being a big romantic goof won't make my hair any greener."

"Drat."

Carlos puzzled over the great viridian conundrum for a moment. He propped himself up on his elbows, dislodging Molly with a "hey!" of protest, and frowned at his surroundings. There really was shockingly little green to speak of. But as he considered giving up, a bizarre, treacherous thought slowly blossomed in his brain.

"Is this some self-fulfilling prophesy, where not knowing the answer to your clue will make me green with envy at your clear I Spy superiority, and the answer is 'me'?"

Molly smirked, delighted. "Maaaaaybe."

Carlos pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the lips. "You have way too many younger siblings."

"You love it," Molly said, curling into his body.

"I do," he agreed. "And now, I spy with my little eye something adorable."

"Do you have a mirror?" Molly snorted.

"Not who I was thinking of," said Carlos, squeezing her arm.

"Charmer," Molly accused, kissing him again.

Carlos pulled his head away a few millimeters. "Actually, I was thinking about that little dog over there with a bow on it, the same color as the owner's kid's dress.

Molly punched him good-naturedly in the shoulder.

The sky was blue, the clouds were white, the trees were green, and all was right with the world.


	8. Prompt: Humidity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No spoilers!

"Don't you dare say it," Murphy snapped, before I could open my mouth.

I pouted at her and wiped the sheen of sweat from my brow. "You wound me, Murph."

"I know you," she accused. "You're wasting 90% of your brainpower trying to think of quippy one-liners about being locked in a sauna by an eccentric little psychopath instead of thinking of ways to get us out." She poked me in the sweat-soaked t-shirt, my duster having been instantly discarded. "Well I won't have it. No jokes, no snark, no witty side-comments. Not until you figure out a way to magic us out."

"Tao of Peter Parker, Murph. They just come naturally. I can't save the world without them."

Murphy muttered something that would have made a sailor blush and sat down on one of the wood benches. She made a show of wringing out the hem of her blouse.

"Come on, the temperature isn't so bad," I said, kicking the annoyingly solid door once again. "We've been stuck in worse places than this. And think on the bright side! Most people fork over cash by the bucketloads to get access to a sauna this nice. Think of how great your pores will feel afterwards."

Murphy glowered. "It's not the heat; it's the stupidity."


	9. Prompt: Write about small injuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Refers to events as recent as White Night. A drabble.

Getting your hand half-melted by napalm-happy vampires hurts.

So does getting your abdomen sliced open with a hook knife by a vengeful ex-demon-host sorcerer, and climbing over a garden wall after being shot in the shoulder. You can add to the list getting shot in the back by half a dozen rounds before plunging into a frozen lake, banging your head on the ice in the process, or learning to shield with thrown baseballs.

With the sheer amount of abuse my body has taken over the years, you'd think I'd have some perspective.

But hell's bells, this papercut _stings_.


End file.
